Dark Night
by Chameleon2
Summary: Just a little moody picture of the castle and its inhabitants


It was a dark night, but inside the castle it was warm and light because of all the candles that were lit, hundreds and hundreds of candles, in whose light priceless jewelry sparkled and waxed hair gleamed, the kind of dancing light that makes the pupils 

It was a dark night, but inside the castle it was warm and light because of all the candles that were lit, hundreds and hundreds of candles, in whose light priceless jewelry sparkled and waxed hair gleamed, the kind of dancing light that makes the pupils convulse like those of a stalking cat. Wax dripped from tables and chandeliers without doing any damage, for what is magically tended to will not do any harm to its accommodations.

The people swerving around in the ballroom did not even think about the dangers or oddities of this place; it was dangerous to acknowledge your fears in Poenari. They might come true, if one did not watch out. Yet that was the thrilling part of the castle and its host, the danger. The Count's parties were the most successful ones in whole Transylvania, as he very well knew, and that was mostly because one of the guest would have disappeared by the end of the night. It was always the same, a lady or a lord, young or old, ugly or pretty, although handsome people seemed to be in favor the last time, would not leave the castle at dawn—probably not ever. Most often nothing was heard again of that person, but sometimes his or her body would turn up, years later, in another country or in another man's garden. Too far away to have anything to do with the Count. Besides, all in the ballroom knew the risks, and they gladly took them, for a single night in this cursed castle was enough to nudge one's personal popularity up a few marks. Not to mention one's personal career.

Of course the Count was a most amiable man, pleasant of appearance, sophisticated, humorous. Intelligent. And thoroughly, absolutely Evil.

Somewhere a single drum began to beat a rhythm, not at all like the ordinary slow music of that time. Ladies and gentlemen looked at each other with eager eyes; dancing would begin. An invisible violin blended in with the drum, forming an eerie tune, almost false, but never truly and always beautiful, an almost tangible thread of music running through the halls and chambers. A clavier joined in, followed by several flutes, a low violin, the clear sound of a recorder. Then, as a finishing touch, a dark chime of a bell. Midnight. The people, standing close together, all felt a sudden tension in their silk-clad bodies and sighed or panted, swallowing the music and intoxicated by it all.

"Dance." the Count said. He spoke softly, but everybody heard him. The echoes of his voice played around in their heads, changing to thoughts and then disappearing in their hearts. The people began to dance, filling the room with moving bodies and billowing dresses. They would dance until the first light shone through the windows and the candles were burnt out, or until it pleased the Count to remove his spell—but he enjoyed so much to watch them and feel their heat in his cold home. He would let them dance for a while.

Searchingly, he studied the faces in the crowd, looking for a particular face, but it wasn't there. Yet. He knew his son would not be able to resist the temptation. For now…he was to make his choice for tonight. A male, he had decided that even before the first guests had arrived. He had enough of females for the time being, they always remembered him of Lisa. Beautiful Lisa, with her white-golden hair…

Amidst the living, he danced his dance of death, warming his cold flesh on their flame, and they did not even notice. They were so stupid, the living. They willingly put their lives at risk for a short time of pleasure, not even knowing how terribly that time would end. Yet their souls were so delightful; when he fed on them, their wild, conceited thoughts would swirl in his mind, all their ideas and ambitions, so much better than those peasant sheep. They had no thought but how to live through the winter, how to keep from starving. Boring, those who were poor. And most of the time they were ugly too, from too hard work on the land the females turned dreadfully wiry and dirty, the males wasted as soon as they past their prime. Horrible.

Although there was nothing to hear, the Count felt his spell waver a moment as another of his kind entered the room. The people felt it too, and everybody turned the head to look. An audible gasp past through the room—all ladies, the Count noticed with a quick smile. Not that it was the young man's appearance, they could not see him from that far, it simply was the power he possessed and the fact that he interfered with the enchantment. And yet…even from where he was standing he could see the arrogant bearings of the man, the cold disdain on his pale face. His whole figure was radiating contempt, yet, as usual, that was mistaken for pride. The youth's looks did not help warding the women off, much to his annoyance. The Count's smile spread to a wide grin. _Let him be uncomfortable for a while. He deserves it._

The youth that had entered the light-flooded ballroom was tall and slender like most of the other young noblemen, but there the resemblance stopped. His skin was white as bleached bones and equally smooth, without blemish or colour. Silky, jaw-length hair of an equal fairness framed a face that was as beautiful as it was depressed; not the strongly defined masculine beauty of that age, but the kind that the ancient Romans had striven for in their statues of gods and demi-gods. Something androgynous and untouchable—and hard, hard as marble. Eyes the colour of pale ember glanced at the moving humans from under a thick fringe of lashes; his thin lips tightened momentarily with a hidden emotion that disappeared immediately. With a face like a mask he greeted the woman who had thrust her hand into his to be kissed.

"Lady Jehenna,"

"Lord Tepes," Through her gloves she could feel the chill of his flesh, and she had to fight the sudden desire to take that hand and warm it between her own. Blushing, she released him. He smiled slightly, amused and a bit teasing. His age could be everything between eighteen and thirty, but when he grinned like that he could just as well be much younger, and very, very charming.

_Might as well charm your supper, the Count thought with a chuckle as he wove his way between the dancing couples. The other man's head shot up when he suddenly materialized in front of him, features frozen once more._

"Father," he acknowledged, bowing slightly.

"Alucard." Ember sparked a hot orange before darkening almost to black. "I am so glad you deigned to come."

"I was busy," Alucard snapped. "Besides, if you would have invited me instead of 'pulled' me, I'd have told you I would be late…or refrain from coming altogether."

"Pulled you?" the Lady Jehenna inquired. Alucard shrugged, taking her hand in the middle of the same gesture.

"Only a saying, my dear. Shall we dance?" The Count watched them go and shook his head ruefully. No matter how much he enjoyed baiting his son, he regretted the growing distance between them. In a few years time, he feared, Alucard would have completely outgrown him, and then he'd be lost to him. The idea alone was intolerable. Alucard was HIS, his son, his creation, the only thing besides a few paintings and busts that reminded him of Lisa. Nothing tangible, of course, whenever people conversed about Alucard the first thing said was that he looked so much like his father. Yet the whole of him, that strange frailty nobody but the Count seemed to notice, that was wholly Lisa-like. Lisa….

It had taken long years before he had been able to abide humans in his castle, even to play his games with them. Alucard still could not abide them, deep inside there was nothing but hate—but that hate was changing to simple disgust, and the power it had given the Count over his son was beginning to abate with the intensity of his feelings. One could not blame every human for the murder of his mother. The aristocracy had had nothing to do with it, some didn't even know it. One pompous lord had even proposed to hang the whole village, never mind the consequences. The Count had raised one dark eyebrow and told him he had dealt with the guilty already. More deaths would end the complete population of this district. The lord had laughed. The Count had laughed when he disposed of the man's body. Mankind was so incredibly stupid. They did not deserve any better.

The lady Jehenna sagged against Alucard's chest, her arms hanging limp around his neck. Her already pale skin was ghostly now, while her partner finally looked healthy. Risky. Exciting, but risky. Nobody noticed when he lifted her under her arms and knees and carried her out of the hall, or maybe they just didn't care.

"Have you gone mad?"

"They know what we are, why hide my appetite?" He grinned widely, showing canines that reminded of a cat's. His eyes were dark and more than a little mad. How much wine had that woman drunk before he sucked her empty? She certainly had been less than sober.

"You are endangering me." Alucard hoisted the woman's body in a more comfortable position before he said in a voice that was as cold and dark as the night, "And what is that supposed to mean to me, father? If I had my way, you would have been dust yesterday. I would not have come if you had not forced me, but you cannot force me to forget my hatred."

"I never forced you to come; all I did was call you."

"I will not hear you if I sleep…" He placed Jehenna on a stone bench near a painted window. She did not look like she was sleeping, she looked dead. Alucard smiled. "And I will sleep like the dead, my lord. Me and the dead, we will lie and become one with the earth…"

"You are drunk."

"No, I am not." But he was, the wine had painted his lips red. Blood, wine, what was the difference? For him, there was no difference. It was a drug, like the love of women was a drug that killed and intoxicated you at the same time. It was something he had planned to forswear—this was the last time he had taken it.

As the night wore on, Alucard left the castle, the candles, the music, everything behind him, knowing he would return, in the future, but not in the next few, or many years. He disappeared into the night, conscious of the Count's eyes on his back, but he never looked back. 

The Count returned to his guest, a pale shadow in a midnight cloak. This party would have no survivors at all.


End file.
